Plunge
by INMH
Summary: Murphy's descent. Warning for Major Downpour Spoilers, Strong Language, Suicidal themes and References to Child Rape/Murder.


Plunge

**Rating:** R/M

**Genre:** Drama/Angst/Hurt/Comfort

**Summary:** Murphy's descent. Warning for Major Downpour Spoilers, Strong Language, Suicidal themes and References to Child Rape/Murder.

Author's Note: GAAAH, it took me forever to settle on what to do for this challenge. Originally I almost went with something for Les Miserables, but then this idea struck and I felt I could work it better.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Silent Hill. It belongs to Konami/Vatra.

[-]

The official cause of death is 'drowning'.

Murphy's rage makes him feel strong, makes him feel like he could pick up his car and throw it down the street. He wants to scream that no, no, Charlie didn't drown, didn't fall off a boat or slip on a rock; the cause of death was 'that baby-fucking-son-of-a-bitch put him in a sack and threw him into the fucking water and fucking murdered him'.

He sat on the shore of the lake, refused to let the officers pull him away, howled Charlie's name until everything blurred together. The water was cold, it was dirty, and all Murphy could think about was Charlie's body in that bag, Charlie's little lungs filling up with water as he gasped and cried and called for help that wouldn't come (_Oh God please let him have been unconscious God please-)_

When he eventually gets home that night Murphy doesn't pick up a car, but he does knock the kitchen table over, wildly slams into and around most surfaces in the kitchen as he screams and screams and screams and screams. Carol is in the living room sobbing softly, speaking to a female police officer and trying to articulate something. It's been years since Murphy's seen her cry.

The pain in his heart, the pain of Charlie's loss and Carol's grief is worse than the fractured arm he gets when he throws an errant arm to the side and hits the refrigerator. It hurts more than the bumps in the road that jar his arm as the police officer drives him to the hospital. Carol does not come, is in no state to. She stays at the house and keeps talking to the police and doesn't even acknowledge the officer that informs her he's taking her husband to the hospital beyond a brief 'uh-huh'.

He manages to contain his rage in the emergency room, letting the officer explain quietly what happened to the nurse and then letting the doctor put him in a cast and sling. The entire ordeal, having to sit in relative stillness and silence (because he doesn't want to and probably shouldn't speak) is a new form of hell. The pain in his arm does provide something of a distraction, and Murphy tries to focus on it and not the pain in his heart, but it's still just too much opportunity to sit and think.

_Why couldn't Charlie be here?_

_Why couldn't Charlie be here and safe, scared but safe, alive with me beside him-?_

Murphy clenches his teeth and bottles it up.

_Don't explode._

_Don't yell._

_Don't cry._

_**Save it.**_

Later on- much later on- Murphy descends into an almost unnatural state of calmness. When he looks back at this moment without eyes clouded with agony, Murphy will tremble at the realization of just how well he managed to store his fury, his pain, his thirst for blood and retribution. His expression is not blank, not completely; something dark stirs behind his eyes, something that will make people withdraw from him with a sense of unease.

He spends the rest of his stay in the ER on his back, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the doctors to discharge him. Unquestionably, he knows they must be considering (perhaps at the officer's suggestion) a psychological evaluation; and hell, he would think twice about letting him loose too. But in the end, Murphy is released and sent home. The officer doesn't speak, just drives Murphy home and lets him be.

The next three years are a blur of numbness.

The funeral happens. Murphy's brain closes shop for the day, and he remembers very little of it later on.

The police do not find the man who killed Charlie. They try, and Murphy knows they try, but there is no solid answer and the case soon grows cold. If they have a suspect, they're smart enough to see that look in Murphy's eyes and not tell. Though part of him gives them credit for their efforts, Murphy isn't satisfied and a growingly savage part of him won't be satisfied until he has blood. For a time, though, that part is suffocated by his numb grief.

Carol immediately puts them both into counseling. The counselor talks, Carol listens. Carol talks, the counselor listens. Murphy moves his mouth and says words, and anything said to him falls away unheard like water sliding down a window. A fog hangs around his mind, impenetrable and ominous. It takes three months after Charlie's death for Carol to leave for her parents' house. Two weeks after that, she's filed for divorce.

Murphy loses his job. His performance and attendance are down, and the boss- a friend for a good while- is pained to let him go under these circumstances, but has no other choice. Murphy can't bring himself to blame the man. It's not like he needs that much money anyway- he's basically said that Carol can have whatever she wants of the house and their possessions and assets. He doesn't eat much anymore, and could just as easily sleep on the street for all he's capable of feeling anymore.

Any happiness he had was buried with Charlie.

For a time, Murphy thinks that he is content to just die. One thing Carol didn't take was the kitchen knives, and there are still stale medications of different kinds in the bathroom cabinet. He has enough money to easily drink himself to death, even though he hasn't touched alcohol much in the last few weeks. And hell, there are tall buildings around, even bridges- his options are wide open. What drawback could there possibly be, when the end-result is being with Charlie again?

There is none. Not that he can see.

But then something happens, something that changes Murphy's mind, sends it into a speedy u-turn.

Murphy hasn't been prodding too deeply into the investigation because, frankly, he's a car mechanic and knows next to nothing about how the police go about conducting such things. If they catch someone, he'll know; if they don't, he won't, and after a point the grief makes him so apathetic he doesn't even inquire anymore.

One day, though, Murphy awakes to hear a commotion outside. They're hauling his neighbor, Patrick Napier- a janitor at the local community-college who hosted the occasional summer barbeque in his back yard- out the door, and he looks distressed (obviously). If Murphy had even a fifth of the energy he'd possessed before Charlie's death, he would probably be outside with the growing crowd of neighbors watching. But Napier's missed out on one too many ticket payments for all the care Murphy has, and so he just puts his pounding head back on the pillow and tries to sleep.

But that night, with the news on in the background to combat the endless, painful, maddening silence, Murphy learns of Napier's crime: Raping and murdering a little boy, drowning him in the bathtub of his house.

_(Drowning-_

_He __**drowned**__ him-_

_Just like-)_

It's as though God himself has parted the clouds and let down a beam of light straight to the TV, because clearly Murphy is meant to see the picture of little Daniel Stephens and realize that oh no oh _sweet Jesus Christ he looks just like Charlie-_

And there's more, _more_, because now they're saying that Napier is a convicted sex-offender who got caught touching little boys at a school he used to work in (and why the blue_**fuck**_was Murphy not informed that he was living next to a_** fucking pedophile?**_)__next they're showing footage of a van that "allegedly" belongs to Napier being towed from a parking lot under suspicion that it may have been what was used to abduct young Daniel and hadn't Murphy seen a van like that

driving down the road

the day

Charlie-

_Charlie_-

The world disappears into a dark hole, an endless abyss. Murphy has sunken into the deepest recesses of his mind, and all he can do is think.

Napier murdered a little boy that looks like Charlie, in a van that Murphy saw on the road driving _away from the lake_ as he was looking for Charlie; Napier was their neighbor and one of the few people that Charlie would have trusted enough to accept a ride from without being leery; Napier was a convicted sex-offender who had a habit of touching little boys inappropriately, and holy _shit_, Murphy isn't a detective but one plus two _usually equals three_.

Napier murdered Charlie.

And so it goes that Murphy is expecting the police to come to this same conclusion. They have to know even more about this than Murphy does; clearly they've just had a lack of evidence to go on, and now that they have license to search Napier's house and car and whatnot of _course_ they'll come up with something concrete to tie him to Charlie's murder.

The clouds are black and the thunder is rolling, and Murphy knows the storm is coming. He sits and waits for it in a state of eerie calm that might have been unnerving to others, if others had been present to witness it.

But the rain never falls.

Napier is convicted of murdering Daniel Stephens, and it's life without parole. Murphy personally thinks that he should have been hacked to pieces and fed to wild dogs, but knows the current penal system doesn't allow for that. He watches and he waits, he waits for the police to do something, say something, something like 'Napier is also a suspect in the murder of Charlie Pendleton', but… Nothing.

Napier is sent to Ryall State Prison for Daniel's murder.

Murphy is furious, and the clouds start to darken again.

This isn't enough. This isn't _nearly_ enough. Two little dead boys, and Napier goes to prison where he's obviously going to be guarded carefully, because pedophiles don't last long behind bars without it. Napier gets to go right on living, while Charlie is still dead, still in a coffin underground in that stupid suit Carol picked out for him at the funeral home. Charlie is not coming back.

And Napier needs to pay for it. _Dearly_.

The knowledge that he could end up paying for it at the hands of some prison-thug isn't as satisfying as it should be. No, no, the simmering fury in Murphy's heart was boiling up to the surface, and some dark, primal instinct in him absolutely _lusted_ for Napier's blood. His dreams are full of Charlie's cries for help, for his father to come save him, and no, _no_, he wants to be the one to do it. He wants to be the one that looks into Napier's eyes as his life flees his body, wants him to feel the sheer, raw _fear_ that Charlie must have felt when he died-

The plan forms in a logical line of thought: Napier is in prison, and is not getting out. The solution? Murphy must go to prison. He is not so far gone that he can contemplate hurting someone else- therefore, it must be something lesser, but still bad enough to get him sent to prison long enough to devise a way to get to Napier. Armed robbery? Perhaps. Would unarmed robbery be enough?

Grand theft auto is eventually settled on because, honestly, if there's any crime Murphy can commit in this world, it's car-theft. Hell, with all of the skills he's picked up as a mechanic he could probably do pretty well at operating a chop-shop. But Murphy knows that he has no prior criminal history, and a court-appointed lawyer will probably argue for that reason that Murphy deserves a lighter sentence- probably with as little jail-time as possible. Ergo, he would have to do something bad enough that no amount of sympathy for his crap life would be enough to warrant only strict probation.

To see the unattended police car sitting outside the local drugstore gives Murphy pure inspiration. He's been wandering around town for the past week, waiting for an opportunity, a sign that now is the time to act. He doesn't want to steal just any car; that could mean depriving a person of what is perhaps their only vehicle and method to provide for their family, and Murphy knows that frustration a little too well.

But a police car- that he can do.

And he does.

What Murphy doesn't anticipate- but also doesn't regret- is the police chase that ensues. The officer doesn't see him take the car, but he also doesn't waste time in reporting the number of the car to his fellows so that it can be found. Murphy has a cruiser on his tail within half an hour, and they're radioing the car and telling him to pull over.

Murphy also doesn't anticipate how long the chase will last, or how far he'll lead the police in the meantime: He takes the car around eleven that morning, and when the gas runs out it's about eight- and he's no more than twenty minutes away from Washington DC, because apparently the police aren't allowed to use spike-strips unless he poses a danger to the public, and Murphy was careful to avoid excessive speeding and dangerous maneuvers.

The police, however, are still pissed.

The trial is brief, because Murphy pleads guilty. He doesn't ask for lenience, doesn't give any indication that he gives a fuck what they sentence him to. His state-appointed attorney does his job and lets the judge know of the 'considerable psychological stress' that Murphy's been under. He sells it well enough that the judge brings down a surprisingly light sentence, particularly given that Murphy's committed a class B felony: Eighteen months in prison, possibility of parole in six.

Murphy is pleased.

It's not true pleasure- it's tainted with coldness and hate, formed from the knowledge that he was one step closer to bringing to life the savage fantasies he has in store for Napier. The fire in his heart, the screaming in his head will only be satisfied with the knowledge that Patrick Napier is dead and gone, having suffered greatly at the hands of a vengeful father. Charlie's memory is worth any potential consequences, and with it, Murphy does not falter.

They ship him off to Ryall State Prison and put him in a cell. The door slides shut behind him, and everything is relatively quiet. It's not too different from the kinds of cells you might see on TV: The colors are dull, the paint is chipping, there are small cracks in the otherwise solid material, and overall it looks exactly like a place you might condemn someone to when you wanted them to have ample time to contemplate what wrongs they had committed.

And contemplate Murphy does; not about his crimes, but rather about the day when he might see Napier dead. Maybe, just _maybe_, it will be enough to let him heal. Maybe knowing that Napier is gone will offer him a measure of peace, the kind he hasn't had since the moment he realized that Charlie was missing. Maybe he'll even be able to kill Napier and not get caught, and maybe- just maybe- he'll be able to leave Ryall one day and move on.

Until then, Murphy is content to bide his time and wait for another opportunity to arise. For now, this cage is not a prison.

It is exactly where he wants to be.

-End

Just wanted to clarify something here: It struck me as kind of odd that Napier wasn't suspected of Charlie's murder in the game (I don't recall them stating anything to that effect, but I could be wrong?), given that Napier was a convicted sex-offender and lived right next door to Charlie (and was then convicted of murdering another little boy later on). I think it's a plot-hole rather than the police keeping the connection under-wraps while they collect evidence, otherwise there would have been a little more suspicion surrounding Murphy's sudden incarceration at Ryall.

tl;dr, I didn't make the police wildly oblivious to the Charlie-Napier connection and Murphy's motivations for going to prison in this story for teh lulz. I was going off of what I saw in the game.


End file.
